


before the after

by Areiton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Multiple, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-22 23:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: There are two times in Bucky Barnes' life.Before--Before the bomb, before his injury, before Steve died.After--After the grief, after his life began again, after he fell in love with Tony.There are two times in Bucky Barnes' life--and they're about to slam into each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I babbled about on [Tumblr](https://areiton.tumblr.com/post/187107987917/you-know-the-my-husband-died-in-war-and-i)and wanted to read and couldn't find (Which is tragic, friends, let me just say that) and so here we are. A tiny first chapter to get us started!

It’s a  _ Good  _ day. 

The thought strikes him as he’s entering the elevator, and it’s strange, because they don’t think about it like that, not anymore. There are still Bad days, but not so many that  _ Good _ days are red letter events, something he’s almost bouncing on his toes to tell JARVIS to note. 

He doesn’t, if only because the man next to him already thinks he’s an eccentric weirdo. 

He doesn’t, but he  _ thinks _ it and he smiles, and twitches a little as the elevator rises. 

February is, notoriously, a bad month. And this--it’s a  _ Good  _ day. 

“Can I get you anything?” Tony asks, as the elevator doors open into the sprawling penthouse. There are boxes stacked in one corner of the foyer and he wants to rip into them, wants to unpack every last one and coo over them and--he clears his throat and blinks at Joe Grant. Who's watching him with a bemused smile. 

Not completely unusual--his friends and family usually spend most of their time looking at him like that. “Coffee, tea, whiskey?” 

Joe snorts, and shakes his head. “I’m ok.” 

Tony nods. “Gives me one sec--I’ll get him.” 

~*~ 

“Honey,” he almost sings, and Bucky looks up at him from behind his desk. Eyes bright, hair pulled back into a pony tail, only two mugs on his desk, metal hand loose and relaxed on the table. It  _ is _ a  _ Good  _ day. “You’re in a good mood,” Tony says, beaming and his husband leans back and raises an eyebrow. 

“What did you do?” 

“Brought you a present,” Tony says, cheerfully. He scoots around the desk and crawls into Bucky’s lap, completely sure of his welcome--and Bucky’s arm slides around him, balancing him and drawing him into a chaste kiss. 

“Does that mean you brought home another stray because the house is gettin’ kinda full, doll.” 

Tony makes a face. “No--well. Yes, but you don’t have to keep this stray,” he says and then kind of leers. “Unless you want. I think you’ll want. He’s very pretty.” 

Bucky huffs, and squeezes Tony a little. “Three years and you already got a wanderin’ eye?”

“Looking doesn’t hurt,” Tony observes, but his tone goes serious and his hand is gentle when it turns Bucky’s face up to his. “But I only want you. You know that.” 

Bucky doesn’t answer--just leans down and kisses him, soft and sweet and maybe that’s answer enough. 

“What’s my present,” he asks and Tony straightens. 

“I found you a PA. Military record, recently returned home POW. Good guy, real shitty hand.” 

Bucky frowns at him and Tony bounces out of his lap. “You said you need this. You will, especially--” 

“I know, doll. I just--it’s hard, lettin’ go.” 

“You’ll be glad you did,” Tony promises, and tugs on his hand. “At least meet Joe. You’ll like him, I promise.” 

Bucky huffs. “You gonna help me put together that bed after?” 

“I thought we’d get the bots to do it,” Tony says, innocently, leaning into Bucky’s shoulder because there was zero need to see the glare Bucky was leveling at him. “Kidding, I’m kidding--yes, we’re doing that after dinner.”

Bucky huffs, pleased, and Tony has this one moment. 

Where his husband is holding him and the future is brilliant and even if it  _ is _ February--it’s a damn  _ Good  _ day. 

Then they step into the living room, where Joe is staring at a painting above the mantle. At his side, Bucky goes tense, watching him. He’s pretty--big and broad shoulders with a neat, narrow waist, hands tucked into his pockets emphasising a sweet round ass that Tony shouldn’t be looking at. 

Not as sweet as Bucky’s, he thinks. 

Bucky--who is pulling away, and Joe turns, some noise he’d made alerting him to their presence. 

Til the day he dies, Tony will hear the sound Bucky makes. A choked breath punched out, all hurt and hope and disbelief and--another man’s name. 

“ _ Steve?” _ he breathes. 

Tony stares. He’s wrong. He  _ has _ to be. He’s--he stares. Bucky is shifting, closer, and this, this is a nightmare, this isn’t  _ real.  _

_ This can’t be real.  _

It had been such a damn  _ Good _ day. 

“ _ Steve,”  _ Bucky says again, breathless with longing, the way he’s always sounded when he says his first husband’s name in the middle of his nightmares, and Joe’s brow furrows. 

“Who the hell is Steve?” 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky was impatiently waiting for class to end when his phone buzzed in the front pocket of his jeans. He didn't quite scramble to grab for it but it was a near thing--and the message made some of the tension that had been building in his shoulders loosen. 

"Steve?" Becca mouthed at him, and he nodded, slid the phone away and shifted his attention to the tail end of his class, scribbling the homework down and swiping his bag up a half second before the bell rang. 

"Did he say where the hell he is?" Becca asks, hanging off his elbow and Bucky shakes his head. 

"You gotta ride home?" he asks and she makes a face at him and busses a kiss to his cheek before veering off to practice, and Bucky slips out of the school into the bright sunshine, eyes scanning the parking lot. 

Steve is leaning against his jeep, shoulders loose, eyes trained on the doors of the school. 

He still wasn't completely used to the new shape and size of his best friend, and he kinda stutters a step before he's jostled by a passel of sophomores who squeak and scurry away. 

Steve straightens away from the jeep as he approaches and Bucky looks him over, a habit too ingrained from years of fighting to break just because Steve is now roughly the size of a house. "You don't look sick, Stevie," he says, and Steve flushes. 

Looks away. 

He's hiding something. 

It sits, hot and heavy and sickening in Bucky's gut and even Steve's hopeful smile doesn't quite diminish that sickness. "Let's go to the docks, huh? I gotta talk to you." 

~*~ 

They stop for sandwiches, a bag of plums and crumbling cookies and Bucky doesn't push. He won't get anywhere with pushing. Steve is a stubborn bastard--when he's ready, he'll tell Bucky what's on his mind. Until then, pushing will just make that pretty mouth tighten up and his eyes go stormy and stubborn. 

He bides his time and sits next to Steve on the edge of the docks, listening to the clang of boats out on the water and the old men fishing and shooting shit. The skyline looks weird, still, not quite what he's used to seeing and he can feel Steve watching it. 

The wind kicks up a little, a gust of salt and shit, all mixed together with diesel--the smell of their city and it's so familiar, as familiar as the sandwich in his hand and the plum juice running down Steve's chin and he thinks--I want this, forever. 

"I enlisted," Steve says, almost like he can read Bucky's mind, and needs him to know that dream is just that--a dream. 

Because--

No. No. 

"Steve," Bucky breathes, and there's *terror in his voice, something he can't choke down. 

Of all the things he thought Steve could say, this never even made the list. It was never on the table--Steve was too little, too fragile. Sarah--oh fuck, "What'd your ma say?" 

Steve gives him a sharp look and Bucky shrugs, unrepentant. If Steve is bound and determined to head off to war, he's gotta know his mama is gonna be mad as hell. 

"She wasn't thrilled," Steve admits. "But she supports my decision." 

There's something--off--about that wording, something that's yanking at him, and he twists, really stares at Steve. "Wait. You--you already did it. This isn't you thinkin' about enlisting--you already did it." 

Steve flushes, just a little, and nods. Ducks his head to look at the water, at the fish circling for their crumbs. "Today. That's where I was." 

He can hear the water below them and the boats, even the men shouting abuse about the size of their catch. He can even taste the sweet sugar cookies on his lips, still, but it all feels distant. Unreal and impossibly far away, like Steve, sitting next to him is the only real thing. 

He reaches out, because the world is spinning circles that make him want to throw up and his best friend,  _ his _ Steve, is leaving, and he needs that touch, needs to know he's here, still, close enough to touch, close enough--

He yanks Steve forward, into his arms, and crushes their lips together. 

Steve flails a little, too long limbs and big body to know what to do with, and then goes still, and his mouth under Bucky's is fruity and soft and he kinda sighs, a sweet little noise that makes Bucky *ache, before he opens up to it, swipes his tongue out to taste with a tiny little noise that goes straight to his cock. 

He's leaving. 

Bucky shoves away and scrambles to his feet, ignoring Steve's startled, drugged sounding, "Buck?" 

He's halfway down the dock, halfway to free, when Steve's hand closes over his elbow. Pulls him around to stare, eyes wide and hurt. "What the hell, Bucky?" 

He doesn't know if Steve's asking about the kiss or the running away. He doesn't think it matters. The answer is the same. A tiny, fatalistic shrug and, "What's it matter--you're leavin'." 

* * *

  
  


Bucky rolls over in bed. 

His arm hurts. It always hurts, and it shouldn't, it  _ shouldn't _ , but the doctors said that it would for a while. He reaches up, squeezes at the left stump and then releases it because the ache of his arm is distracting him from the yawning emptiness of his bed. 

He can hear Peggy in the kitchen, and Dugan's low voice, and he thinks he should get up. 

It's not right, that they're out there in his disaster of a house, while he rolls around in his sheets fighting tears. 

Steve would be  _ furious _ . 

If Steve were here to be furious. 

He blinks, tears sliding silently down his cheeks, and digs his nails deeper into stump. He's very vaguely aware that there's blood on his hand, coating his fingernails. 

"Goddammit, stop that, Barnes!" Peggy snaps, pulling at his hand. It comes away with a shock of pain and welling blood and she hisses, glaring at him. 

He should probably apologize. 

"Sorry, Carter," he mumbles, and turns into his pillow. 

It's been six months. Six months. He should be able to get up and put some damn eggs on by now, should want more than just his bed and oblivion and Steve. 

"I'm sorry," he says, again, into his pillows, desperate and broken, and Carter makes a noise behind him, sliding further onto the bed and curling around him. 

"You can take as long as you need, darling," she says, her voice rich and soothing and  _ wrong _ , so goddamn wrong, he almost hates her. "But don't hurt yourself. He'd hate that." 

He would. Steve always hated when Bucky was hurt, hated it most when it was his own damn fault, but he wasn't here to yell at Bucky. 

And wasn't that the whole fucking point. 

~*~ 

Dugan hands him the letter with his lunch after Peggy goes to work, giving Bucky concerned looks the entire time. 

"You got approved," he says, and Bucky stares at it, for a long time. 

It's been nine months since he even thought about the trial, since Steve casually mentioned it to him while they were making dinner. 

Nine months, and he just got approved and it's--

He makes it to the toilet, but only barely, and is messily sick, hand clutching the toilet and letter, Steve's last gift. 

~*~ 

Peggy and Dugan want to go with him. Dugan glared and Peggy got icy cold when he said no. 

It's not even that he doesn't want them to--it's that he needs to do this alone. This is his, his gift from Steve, and he thinks the only reason he's bothering with it is because it mattered to Steve. 

There's a tiny part of him, a part that is terrifying and that he drowns out with pain and vodka, that says it would be easier to just end it, and fuck Stevie's last gift. 

He doesn't do that. 

He can't. It feels too much like a betrayal. 

There's a young man in the lobby, poking at his phone and glancing up and when he sees Bucky, he straightens, a big smile on his lips and strides forward. "Sergeant Barnes?" 

Bucky looks at him for a second, young and pretty and smiling so wide it makes something in him twist, unpleasant. The kid is waiting, watching, and Bucky clears his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, that's--I'm Bucky." 

The kid smiles. "Peter Parker. I'm Mr. Stark's assistant--if you'd follow me? He's waiting for us in the lab." 

Bucky almost argues--almost says, this isn't right. He's only here for a new arm and meeting Tony fucking Stark was not included, but he doesn't. 

This was important to Steve.

He bites back on his protest and follows the kid, into an elevator and up, so high and fast his ears pop. 

The elevator opens up into a wonderland of tech. Three bots are moving through the room, one beeping excitedly and rolling up to Peter to tug at his arm. Holo screens display in the air, and he catches sight of his face, his file, before it's swiped away and Tony Stark is standing there. 

He's even prettier in person, Bucky thinks, a little bit dazed, and then flushes because what the actual fuck. Steve's been gone less than a year and he's thinking about other guys? There's something very wrong with him. He digs his fingers into his palm and shoves down the thought and stares at the billionaire. 

Tony, blissfully unaware, just smiles, and says, "Sergeant Barnes. It's so fucking good to meet you." 


End file.
